


There's this thing called bisexuality

by Pufosenie23



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Idiots in Love, John Watson Being an Idiot, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John goes for a date and ends up with Sherlock, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Made For Each Other, Mary Morstan Doesn't Exist, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Okay john is clearly not good, Post-Reichenbach, Self-Harm, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Who the hell is Mary?, because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pufosenie23/pseuds/Pufosenie23
Summary: Do you remember that scene between John and Irene Adler when she said he and Sherlock were a couple and he denies it saying "I'm not actually gay" and Irene responds with "Well...I am"? Yeahhh....well I'll use that scene and add my own lines to it because let's be serious...John only said he's not gay and as a bisexual myself I am *screaming*!!!I do not own Sherlock and blah blah blah...that shit you already know. This is only a fan fiction so yeah of course I own nothing but the plot(well part of it)





	1. Chapter 1: In which John has a revelation

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted this on Wattpad too ( Reality-23)

   John was fuming. He recognized the signs. Increased blood pressure, feeling like his head will combust any moment now, shakiness...John was far from stupid and despite what Sherlock says ...not an idiot. He knew what he was feeling when he was feeling it. And this,right now was pure rage. Rather it was towards Irene or Sherlock( well he was always mad at him for stupid reasons but now more than ever because how could he,of all people, let himself fall for the nasty,dangerous woman that was now standing in front of him) he did not know. Feelings were confusing and he had to admit, he couldn't really blame Sherlock for disposing of them.

    " Tell him you're alive." The doctor said looking Irene in the eyes. The coldness he found in there was breath taking, because unlike Sherlock's ever changing eyes that were always,but always,the key to his heart(John found himself lost in those eyes often,contemplating them, analysing and cataloging the different colours and shades Sherlock's eyes could take based on his disposition. It was truly, truly fascinating)Irene's eyes were lacking the life, the warmth. They were dead, just like her soul. John knew it was one of the consequences of letting yourself fall into the pit of pure darkness that was the sexual desire with no feelings whatsoever... Slowly your heart will become just like a stone, not being able to enjoy the happiness and content that love gave to you. 

       "What do I say?"Irene asked. And John's breath was ragged and heavy with his whole body shaking because how dare she? How dare she play with them like that? Making John feel all itchy and stressed and toying with Sherlock's heart and emotions like it was nothing!!!She claimed she knew what Sherlock likes,but she...was...WRONG. She was so wrong! And John found himself pacing around,taking a few steps back to regain at least some of his control and his normal, usual, self,but he only ended up worsening it. Because Irene wasn't the one who was by Sherlock's side 24/7 supporting him, helping him, she wasn't the one who endured these long nights listening to Sherlock's violin and trying to repair his broken heart while maintaining a straight face and a calm expression despite him hanging on the edge, ready to break down and cry and shout out obscenities because fuck he couldn't do this. He couldn't bare seeing Sherlock like this. An emotional mess,without John feeling like someone was stabbing him in the heart  several times with a knife, slowly but surely killing him. He was confused and scared because of this. The intensity of his emotions was almost too much. So he turned back around and nearly screamed, wanting,needing to get out at least some of it:

     "What do you normally say? You've texted him a lot!!!" His last statement was said in a much calmer tone,despite John nearly combusting on the spot. It was true, but also not necessary. He,himself didn't know why he'd said what he had and the confusion started to take over his senses.

        "It was just usual stuff!"Irene said and John could feel the smirk in her tone. He furrowed his eyebrows.

        " There's no usual in this case"

        "You jealous?" The woman asked and John's heart fluttered and stomach clenched as he asked himself, for the first time:was he? He couldn't deny his body's reactions to the man. More than once he found himself in embarrassing situations as his lower half of the body was responding more than eagerly at some of his flatmate's expressions that only worked as fuel for his ...dreams. And he had to admit(at least to himself) that he really despised Irene and her presence, although she made Sherlock more human than John had ever seen him. So animated and full of life, finally finding some kind of competition for his intellect(after all that was what the raven sought in people:intelligence, the ability of surprising him, and Irene,John had to admit,did just that).John was a man of words and didn't really like to lie to someone if he could avoid it so he settled for:

       "We're not a couple!"

        "Yes you are." Irene's respond was immediate,without any hesitation and John found himself taken aback by her words. They weren't. The doctor knew this much. Sherlock didn't do sentiment. He was "married to his work" or that's what he said,despite him falling for Irene. And no matter how you looked at it, John wasn't gay. He's been with countless women before and he really enjoyed their company. And what if he found Sherlock attractive? He really was a handsome man,John knew this much and it was only normal for someone living in the same flat as him to notice. And he remembered  noticing other blokes that John could say were beautiful but nothing more. There was nothing wrong with that. So he let out a sight,already tired of repeating this countless times:

       "God knows about Sherlock Holmes,but,for the record, if someone out there still cares...I'm not actually gay..."

         "Well I ....am." Irene said and all John could do was stand there and stare at her. John's head was a mess,screaming at him to stop this abuse. She was gay. A lesbian. Attracted to women exactly like his sister and still...Sherlock was an exception. How could this happen? Was it even possible? John knew the man was brilliant (he's said it countless times before and he wasn't planing on stopping),but now he made a lesbian fall for him. John let out a breathy and short laugh.

      "And there's this thing called bisexuality, John Watson." The woman added with a smirk dancing on her vibrant red lips, leaving John  feel like someone just punched him in his stomach. Bisexuality... Something John didn't even consider before. It was a thing that simply vanished out of his mind but now...now the doctor was having a revelation.. Bisexual. Could he,by chance, call himself that? Could his feelings towards the idiotic,brilliant detective be more than platonic ones?

        He recalled those times he's looked the detective in the eyes,losing himself in there, drowning in the sea of emotions Sherlock tried to hide from the world. It felt dangerous, but he was addicted. Addicted to Sherlock and how alive he made him feel,because John needed chaos, he was so used to it, he couldn't live without, and Sherlock could give him just that. Everything about the detective screamed frenzy,disorder: his amazing black curls that never stayed arranged, his moves and body language,always so desperate for a case,for danger, his mind that was so messy,it needed to be organized from day to day, his expressions and eyes so wild....and John loved it. He loved all of it. 

           John's world was spinning, dizzy. His chest and stomach clenched in something between fear, horror and...relief? Why relief? Maybe because he finally figured out what he was feeling? Yeah, that must be it. But as the horrific truth finally sank in, John was close to collapsing. His breath was ragged and heavy, his stomach doing suspicious flips causing the poor doctor to want to run at the closest bathroom and puke. His vision was a bit blured and foggy, as he noticed Irene's evil grin turn into a full on smirk that did nothing to calm Jon down. 

       "I'd say something about you being an oblivious idiot, but I think you've already noticed."the Woman said and turned around to leave, waving that ridiculous phone of hers around as she said "Goodbye" to the doctor in an almost flirty way. 

        The sound of her high heels on the hard, metallic floor was still stuck in John's ears as he sank down to the ground, clenching his stomach and fighting the urge to choke and cry. His chest was radiating pain and tears were starting to roll down his cheeks. He was shaking with rage and sadness . Because what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just go to Sherlock and say "Yeah, remember  what i said before about me not wanting you as my boyfriend? It turns out I was wrong and I am hopelessly in love with you". No, definitely not. John was shivering with anxiety just at the mere thought. And there was  this problem with Sherlock being in love with Irene(well the raven never confirmed it, but from what John was able to see and observe, the doctor was almost sure he was correct). His heart clenched in pain. God how the bloody hell didn't he notice before?

     Slowly, he got on his feet and brushed his trousers dust free the best he could as he made his way out of the hell hole. It really wasn't the best place to realise your undying love for your flatmate and best friend, but better sooner than later. Now he was actually given a chance to plan things out. Because he did make a plan. It wasn't the best, John had to admit, but at least he had one. He was going to hide his feelings and do his best to ignore them(it shouldn't be too hard. He did just that these past months).

        And finally, he was going to do his best at supporting Sherlock's relationship with Irene if there was any. John just hoped his heart wasn't going to break on the way.


	2. In which John gets himself a Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So John's grieving Sherlock's death...And the detective returns to a broken, scarred little soldier.  
> ..Please be aware, this contains self-harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it's 12:25 am and i'm bored so I wrote this

John was in shock. Not only that, he was furious. He could feel the anger rising like bile in his throat, acid, eating away at him. He had to physically stop himself from punching Mycroft in his stupid face. 

She was dead.

Irene Adler

Was

Dead.

John couldn't believe it. After all that show she put on, after making John realize he was in love with Sherlock, and therefore breaking his heart, because the raven surely didn't feel the same...she went and died...Just like that. Disappeared from existence. Leaving John to deal with a heartbroken detective.

Of course, he agreed to tell Sherlock she was in fact alive, just not living in London. But he couldn't have prepared himself enough for Sherlock *begging* John to give him her phone...Begging the doctor to give him the littlest thing that bonded Sherlock to her. In that moment, John had to bite his tongue to keep the tears from falling. He couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe as he watched Sherlock take away that piece of useless plastic.

As soon as the phone was safely tacked away in one of the detective's pockets, John existed the room, with his breath ragged, gripping tightly the folder in his hands. 

But he didn't cry. He was a soldier after all.

****  
Nor did he cry when Sherlock fell. When the agony was tearing his heart apart, when his blood seemed to carry endless amounts of pain, when his feet felt like giving in, when his hand were trembling and his voice was shaking, not yet accepting the fact. He didn't cry then. He didn't allow himself to, his soldier persona still pulling the strings of his actions. 

But as he searched Sherlock's wrist for any sign of life, he could feel that persona slowly slipping away, leaving behind a broken and scarred human being, that had just lost his best friend. The person he loves more than anything. The mere reason for John still being alive.

****  
In the months that followed John wasn't functional. He was reduced to some kind of machine, mechanically eating and going for long and lonely walks in the park...He didn't even had a job anymore. They had given him a break, to recover, saying that John's current state was affecting his work. 

He didn't care.

Sometimes Lestrade would visit, trying to comfort John and take his mind away from his best friend's death. One day he even told him he was in a relationship with Mycroft. John just stared at him for long minutes , waiting for Greg to crack and tell him it was a joke. It didn't happen. Apparently, it was the truth. John couldn't do anything more than just pat his friend's shoulder and congratulate him. Wish him a happy life.

He couldn't bring himself to smile. 

****  
As months passed by, John's condition was only getting worse. He knew that Sherlock wouldn't have wanted him to hurt himself, but as the cold blade of the razor slowly dug itself into John's skin, the doctor couldn't bring himself to care. Mycroft didn't know. John made sure to always wear long sleeves and for once London's weather was making itself useful, so he wasn't too suspicious. He convinced the older Holmes to remove the cameras from the bathroom(It was preposterous!!) so it was the only place where he could cut himself. He always made sure to take a shower while he did it so he wouldn't be too dubious.

It didn't hurt. If anything the sight of his own warm, crimson red blood trickling down his arm was comforting. It felt good to finally get rid of the substance that seemed to carry needles as it circulated around his body, making his skin itch and sting and his chest to clench in agony.

It slowly began a daily thing. Whenever he felt like his thoughts overwhelmed him, he would grab the razor and add some new bloody scars to his old collection. Now, both his arms were full of them, not a patch of clean skin in sight.

He wasn't trying to kill himself. He wasn't there...Not yet. For now it was enough. Though he dreaded the day when he would finally do, get feed up with this sorry excuse of a life and decide to end it.

He knew he would hurt too many people. That was the main reason why he didn't do it. 

Even though, it would be good to see Sherlock again. Maybe he could be buried beside him.

****  
It was one of his good days. Days when John didn't feel like dying and the pain was something dull, present, but could, at least, be ignored.

It was the day he decided to try and go on a date with someone...Something he hasn't done in two years, the memory of Sherlock too fresh in his mind and heart. Of course, he still loved the detective, with all his broken heart, but he was dead. And John needed to let go a little bit. It would be just a date with someone he barely knew so it wouldn't be too hard for his partner when he would let her down. Because he knew that was exactly what was going to happen.

Lucy, John's date, a girl he had met in a pub and decided would be perfect for this first attempt of a new life, has chosen the restaurant. Said it was the best in all London. In all honesty, John hoped it wasn't like that because he would then have to spend all his money on the thing. He had retaken his job at the surgery a month or two ago, but that didn't mean he could afford everything. It felt good, having something to focus on and forget, at least a bit, about the pain.

He spotted the girl in the sea of people in front of the restaurant and fastened his pace a little bit. As much as his limp would let him. Ever since *the incident* it had returned and never left. 

Forcing himself to focus at the task at hand, John grabbed Lucy's wrist and gave her a small(albeit genuine) smile. She flashed him a bright smile in return, dimples in the corners of her mouth and John felt a bit bad for planning on letting her down. The girl was beautiful he had to give her that, tall and dark, with short,black, curly hair and blue green eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement.

John had to pause a bit, biting back a groan. He subconsciously chose a female version of Sherlock... Splendid! And he only realised that now. Shaking his head, he followed Lucy's lead, entering the restaurant and trying to push aside any thoughts about Sherlock. He was on a date with this girl for God's sake!

It turned out Lucy's idea of *The Best Restaurant in all London* was a simple Café with kind waiters and a nice, cozy feeling adding to it. And John loved it. It was beautiful really! Simple and comfortable.

They got a table for two, making small talk about food and other people. The poor doctor managed to push aside at least a part of his dark thoughts that were clouding his brain, focusing on his date. John found that he rather enjoyed her company. As a friend. She was a lovely, cheerful person and really interesting to talk to, and John started to feel really bad for planning on letting her down. He had to tell her. He couldn't let the poor girl get her hopes up like that. John wasn't cruel!

"Lucy, hey..." he trailed off, not really knowing how to continue. She placed a warm hand over his own, silently motioning for him to take his time. It felt rather good, like a friend reassuring him so he didn't retract his arm, as he stared off into space.

"I'm really sorry, you know, and you're a wonderful person, but I...I can't..." He didn't finish his sentence, letting her pick up the meaning behind his words. God, he really had to improve his talking skills!

To his surprise Lucy gave him a light chuckle and squeezed his hand.

"Can't be my boyfriend? Oh, John, but I wasn't expecting you to!"

At this John turned his head to look at her. Lucy was smiling reassuringly at him, her two dimples appearing in the corners of her mouth. He shot her a confused look.

"You...you didn't?" He asked stupidly.

Chuckling again she shook her head and moved the hand that was gripping John's so it was resting in her lap.

"No...I only accepted to come because you looked like you needed someone to listen to your troubles. Really John, you looked like you hadn't slept for days and don't think I didn't see you crying when you first came in that pub. To put it short, you were a mess. And it happens that I'm rather good at giving advice so tell me John...what's got you so sad?"

John flushed at her statements about the state he found himself in and looked down in embarrassment. But, the longer he thought about it, the stronger his desire to finally let it all out grew. 

And so, he took a deep breath and began talking.

"I'm in love with someone...They...he isn't the type to fall in love, you know...And anyway it doesn't matter anymore..." John trailed off, images of Sherlock falling flashing in front of his eyes.

"...Why not, John?" Lucy finally asked in a soft, gentle voice, somewhat soothing John. He closed his eyes, agony obvious on his face.

"He...he's dead..." It was the first time he said it out loud. The words burned his throat, and left a bitter taste on his tongue. His heart clenched and his stomach churned.

Lucy's hand was warm and gentle as she slowly rubbed John's arm and her voice comforting as she said: 

"I'm so sorry John...Do you wanna talk about him? Anything?"

Gritting his teeth, John opened his eyes and looked straight at her as he said:

"Actually yeah, I do..." 

And so he did. Told her about how beautiful Sherlock was. How infuriating the man truly turned out to be. How he wouldn't have it any other way. John told her about Sherlock's crazy experiments and deductions, the insane speed of his speech, seeming more like he spat the words out. He also told her about how gentle Sherlock truly could be, how he memorised John's favorite food, even though he claimed that there wasn't any space in his Mind Palace for unimportant things like that. He told her about small things and about big things, described her his daily life from before he'd met him, how Sherlock gave him a reason to live again. How stupid John had been not realizing his true feelings. Lucy listened silently, with a sad smile dancing on her face.

"You truly love him...even after all this time..." She said, fascination and sadness dripping from her voice.

John nodded, feeling tears threatening to escape.

"Yes, yes I do and he- John swallowed, he was going to tell her about the suicide - he..." 

John stopped suddenly raising from the chair he was seated in. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to tell himself it was all just a hallucination, that all the talking about the detective made him see things, but it wouldn't go away.

"L-lucy? Please, tell me you see that man over there..." John gestured to a tall, dark silhouette that was standing at the bar yelling at what seemed to be the owner of the Café. 

Lucy turned her head to look and slowly nodded.

"Yes, I do...John, what's wrong?"

But John wasn't listening anymore. With his entire body trembling, he began to make his way towards the bar, ignoring Lucy's questions. John felt like walking in the water, his legs heavy, his moves slow. His breath quickened as he approached the man.

And there he was. Ruffled, curly hair, a long, blue trenchcoat, tall, lean body, deep, enchanting voice...

"Sherlock!" John's voice was barely above a whisper, afraid that he might be mistaken, and not quite believing his eyes.

But the man turned around, and as those beautiful, ever changing eyes, that were now the color of steel, fixed themselves upon John's face, the doctor was sure. The tall man was in fact Sherlock!

But as the realisation slowly sank in, John was at a loss at what to do with the storm of feelings that was now developing inside of him. The mixed emotions confused John: anger, relief, sadness, happiness, love, grief...They were all in a constant battle, crashing and merging into one another, making John's head hurt. 

So when Sherlock had whispered in his deep, low voice John's name, with endless pain and longing echoing in his voice, it all came crushing down.

The doctor jumped on Sherlock, not really knowing if he wanted to punch him or hug him. But as the detective's strong arms wrapped themselves around John's smaller frame, pulling him closer, the doctor settled for the hug. 

A string of muttered "Sherlock" was falling from John's lips as he engulfed the poor detective in a bone -crashing hug. His heart was stammering in his chest and tears were streaming down his face, but he didn't care. All that mattered was Sherlock that was now in his arms, breathing and alive.

****  
They were now home, in Baker Street, and John felt like flying. He told Lucy he would call and explain later, and then proceeded to drag the detective after him, making sure he didn't let go of his hand. John no longer cared what people thought. He needed to make sure that the younger man was very much breathing and alive. Now ... the question was...How?

He turned to look at the man who was now examining the living room. John felt a little self conscious. He left it exactly as it was two years ago. Sherlock turned to look at him, but said nothing.

Clearing his throat, John opened his mouth to ask him the question that was eating at him, but, as always, Sherlock was faster.

"Molly was a great help, and yes, she knew. Mycroft knew too." He then proceeded to explain John the whole ordeal he went through to make sure his death looked real.

That hit John hard.

"W-why?" He chocked and suddenly Sherlock was hugging him and rubbing his back soothingly.

"I'm sorry John...I'm so sorry, I never planned for you to witness it." Sherlock was hurting too and John marveled at the sight of it. This cold, self - claimed sociopath, talking like this, with this amount of pain and guilt in his voice. It was heart breaking.

"It was necessary John, he...he would have killed you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson otherwise..." Sherlock trailed off, tightening his grip on John's body, as to make sure he was there, in one piece and alive.

The doctor went still. He couldn't imagine the hell Sherlock had gone trough. The detective then explained what he had been doing in the past two years, disposing of Moriarty's network and John's agony and guilt only grew in volume. Sherlock couldn't find out about his self-harm. He tugged nervously at the edge of his sleeves.

After some time, Sherlock excused himself, going to take a shower and leaving John lying motionlessly on the sofa.

Only when he had heard something metallic clattering on the floor, did John realize his mistake. THE RAZOR BLADE!

He run to the bathroom and opened the door only to find Sherlock staring at the blade in horror. John swallowed thickly, feeling like his legs might give in. Sherlock turned to look at him with something between agony and guilt written all over his face. And John wanted to die, knowing that it was his fault..Stupid, stupid, STUPID JOHN!

From two steps, Sherlock was right next to John, asking in a raspy voice:

"H-how many times did you use this, John?...John?" Sherlock began to panic when he noticed tears running freely down his doctor's face, the second time that day.

With shaky hands, John rolled up his sleeves, revealing the mess that was now his arms. Sherlock felt like passing out, his heart clenching painfully at the sight. He did this. It was his fault, that this strong, beautiful person in front of him fell apart like that.

"I'm sorry...I'm so fucking sorry, John ..This is all my fault, oh my god!" He was shaking, wanting to touch John and kiss away all the pain that he had caused. But he couldn't. He didn't have the right. Not after all of this.

John shook his head.

"It's not your fault, Sherlock...You did it to protect me...I was the fool, allowing myself to break down like that....I tried to stop, telling myself you wouldn't want this, but the desire was too strong and my feelings for you too overwhelming -" John cut himself off, horror written all over his face.

God, he was so stupid!

But Sherlock looked at him, shock painfully clear in his eyes.

"You- you love me?," he asked amazed." After everything I did to you?"

He simply couldn't wrap his head around the idea.

But as John nodded weakly, Sherlock couldn't stop himself any longer. He kissed John. 

The doctor's lips were soft and wet from crying, their divine taste sending Sherlock's mind it what felt like heaven. It was a simple, chaste kiss, but he purred years of longing and love in it. John groaned and gripped Sherlock's shirt tightly, not wanting to let go, needing to feel that heart beating in the detective's chest. Needing to know he was alive.

Sherlock pulled away, both gasping for air and pressed his forehead to John's looking him in the eyes.

"I love you too, John...So please, for me, don't use this again,...talk to me if it gets too much, okay?" 

John wasn't used to this soft version of Sherlock, but he couldn't deny he loved every part of it...Oh, who was he kidding, he loved every part of this brilliant, infuriating man! 

John nodded."Yes"

****  
That night, John slept in Sherlock's bed, with the detective curled up next to him. John knew they still had a lot to discuss and their problems weren't yet solved, but for the moment, as he lay there in the arms of his favourite detective, he wouldn't have it any other way...


End file.
